X Marks The Spot
by RescueSquad51
Summary: A tag to It's How You Play The Game. What started as a simple ballgame has opened up some painful memories for Mike. Why is he still so quiet? And why is he so bad at pitching? When Johnny takes things too far, it's left to Cap to find out - and fix the damage.


Hello again, folks, and welcome to my latest story.

It's a tag to It's How you Play The Game - one of my favourite episodes, but also one where poor Mike has a bit of a 'mare.

First, Johnny yells at him about his pitching, then he parks Big Red in a massive puddle (still love this scene for Mike Norell's "Right in the water, you dunce!")

But then, there's another scene that really bugged me - when Mike tries to stop an argument between the others, and Johnny tells him to stay out of it. Damn it, Junior, you nearly took his head off!

I wondered, too, why someone as athletic as he is would be so bad at baseball. So here are my thoughts on why that might be - along with a bit more of my own backstory for him.

Enjoy!

* * *

X Marks The Spot

As a father, Hank Stanley had developed an instinctive sixth sense. That gut feeling when he knew Jack had upset his little sister a bit too much, and needed a stern warning to 'rein it in.'

Beth loved to remind him, too, that it worked just as well for the other kids in his life. From Number One Son to the family baby, if something was wrong with one of his boys, he prided himself on being the first to know about it.

In a station full of differing personalities, he was used to their bickering squabbles. It was just their timing for this latest round of it that prompted a 'not again' sigh. With all the paperwork he had to do for that last callout, he really didn't have time to play referee to his two youngest toddlers.

A sudden rise in their voices, though, didn't leave him much choice. Tossing his pen onto his desk, he pushed back his chair with another resigned sigh.

"Better get in there, before Mike and Roy need to sit on 'em."

Striding into the day room, he was now irritated enough to let fly with some snark of his own. Hands on hips, too, so they'd know Team Dad meant business.

"As much as I appreciate this distraction from my paperwork, could you kids keep it down?"

Met with instant silence, the frown deepened. Damn, he could cut the tension in here with a knife, and... uh oh.

From his other strongest instinct, he'd counted the heads that had turned towards him. Johnny's. Chet's. Marco's. Roy's. But not Mike's. His other family peacemaker, whose legendary calm could go where not even Roy's could reach.

Putting two and two together for his inexplicable absence, more of those alarm bells started to ring.

"Where's Mike?"

"Practising his pitch. _I hope_."

Whoa! That tone in Johnny's reply could have cut a cremated steak. From the way he glared at his partner, Roy had heard it too. More importantly, he also knew its cause - a brief glance between them carrying a whole conversation within it.

 _'Yeah, Cap. He's really_ _done it this time._ '

An equally discreet nod did the same. Big Brother would sort out the family baby, while Team Dad repaired the damage.

Still frowning, Hank strode back out of the day room. Okay, so something had blown up between his eldest and youngest boys. But what he couldn't figure out was what his quiet to the point of invisible engineer had done to deserve its more hurtful results.

Within the same thought, he'd answered his own question, and heard himself groan. Not that damn ball game again, surely?

On the pretence of returning to his office, his eyes now focussed on the engine in front of him. Very little managed to upset his second in command, but when it _did_ \- yes, his lady always managed to calm him down.

Not today, though. No, she wasn't being waxed to within inches of her chassis. Her hosebeds weren't being checked, or re-stacked for the simple pleasure of handling them. Her tyres weren't being lovingly petted. Or, as Mike always insisted - "Inspected, Cap. _Inspected_." And her underside? Nope, no luck there either. That workboard, toolkit, and two blue-clad legs were nowhere around her.

In both concern and irritation, Hank's frown deepened. His unflappable engineer had been upset enough to go AWOL, and - damn, Roy was right. The family baby who could run his mouth off just too damn far had _really_ done it this time.

Glancing behind him, he could see Mike's Chevy, still parked in its place. So he was still around here somewhere, and - ah. Those instincts again, nudging him in the right direction. Not in station so much as outside it, where cooler air and some privacy could calm him down.

And - bingo. Sitting against the wall, his arms looped around his knees, there he was. As his captain now noted, suddenly so small, and alone. So much like Jack, when he came home from a rough day at school, and - ah. More theories for what had upset him were falling into place.

Now all he had to do was find out if they were right. Try to judge from his body language whether this little pep talk needed a teasing approach, or... damn it. A bowed head dipping even lower told him all he needed to know.

So - seriously and carefully it was. Nice and casual too. Just sit quietly beside him, and wait for him to make the first move.

Even when a faint smile acknowledged him, Hank knew this wait for a more vital breakthrough wasn't over yet. But for Mike, for every one of his boys, he had all the time in the world.

The more he thought about it, too, so he realized how his engineer was the perfect storm of contradictions. The eldest of The Three Wise Brothers, he was every bit as sensible and reliable as Roy or Marco. But there, the connection between them stopped.

While Roy and Marco weren't afraid to vent their feelings when they needed to, Mike's were kept bottled up inside him. As Hank had learned from painful experience, such buttoned up reserve could be a tragically dangerous combination.

The irony of it nearly made him smile. His second in command, who never caused him a moment's trouble - yet by his very nature, the one who was also the most vulnerable.

Deep in thought, he only just realized that Mike was finally talking now, and - _what the hell_?!

"...guess he's still sore at me, and... he's right, Cap. If I cared as much about my pitching as I do about my engine, then... yeah, maybe I wouldn't suck at it."

Okay, so he'd assumed he knew what had happened, but Hank's reaction to it was still the same. As calm as he had to be on the outside, but 'spittin' dad mad' below.

 _'For the mess he landed us in?! When you're done with him, Roy, I'll take what's left_.'

Yes, Team Dad was now _officially_ ticked. The ex-engineer in him wasn't too happy either.

"Hey, pal, if _he_ ever makes engineer, maybe then he'll appreciate what's involved. And Mike, you've got _your_ priorities exactly right. Keeping Big Red fit for service is a damn sight more important than some ball game!"

A fair and reasonable point. But as he continued to stare into the distance, Mike's thoughts were still clearly elsewhere.

"It was the same at school. I sucked at it then too."

Another pause. Another sigh. Then the tellingly soft confirmation of what Hank already suspected.

"...no-one wanted me on their teams, and... yeah, now you know why."

His own thoughts split between his real and surrogate sons, Hank winced. Ah yes, kids could be cruelly thoughtless at times. Even the big, supposedly grown up ones.

Jack didn't have that trouble, thank God. He was a typical twelve year old - a real chip off his father's block. Bright, curious, full of confidence. But Mike? Yes, as still such a quiet adult, he could only imagine how painfully shy he'd been at that age.

And where had his own father been, through those 'blink and you'll miss them' years? Aah yes. Another question that Hank's own experience of fatherhood had answered for him. Too busy with the needs of his new baby sister to see or hear those of his firstborn son.

For Jack, of course, he'd realized what was happening while he still had time to make up for it. But for Mike, again, there'd been no such break. Add to that the demands of his father's position of firehouse captain, and... yes, for the first time since they'd started to work together, Hank was starting to understand where that almost unnatural quietness had come from. Not just from shyness, but loneliness too. With no-one else to do it for him, Mike Stoker's best childhood friend had been himself.

He had those friends now, of course. Better friends than he'd ever had at school. Not just friends, either, but brothers. Five of them, who'd literally walk through fire to keep him safe. And while there was just eighteen months difference in age between them, he had a big brother himself too. The captain who, right now, felt more like his so often absent father.

Yes, time for Team Dad to do what Team Dad did best. A bit of a cheering pep talk, and a consoling pat on his shoulder.

"Okay, so maybe baseball's not your thing, but... come on, pal, you're _great_ at basketball. How many points have we won from that killer back pass of yours?"

That won him a smile. A typically modest shrug. And a wry reminder that his teenage growth spurt had worked more to those kids' advantage than it had to his own.

"Only 'cause I was the tallest kid in my class."

Another fair and reasonable point, that Hank had nothing to argue against. Instead, he acted on a now irresistible impulse. Time to get his boy back in the game. And he knew just the way to do it.

Tugging the glove on Mike's hand onto his own, he then hauled his startled engineer onto his feet, and pretty much dragged him into the centre of the yard.

"Well, that was then, Mike. This is now, so... right, Stoker, let's play ball. And much as I hate to pull rank on you, pal... that's an order."

Halfway through a 'but' of protest, Mike then realized it was a waste of time. Years of discipline, too, made it impossible for him to argue against his own CO. Besides, his captain was already striding away from him, strapping on his catcher's headguard, and giving the glove on his hand a few, encouraging whacks.

Settling instead on a puzzled frown, he listened to... whoa! The weirdest orders that he was ever likely to hear.

"Right, now... Mike? You see this X crease, right here? Right in the centre of this glove? Right, now... focus on it. See every single kid who made your life hell back then as being inside it. Now imagine them chucking buckets of dirty water over Big Red... yeah, that's it, Mike, they're running their grubby little hands over where _you've_ just waxed her. You've spent _hours_ washing and waxing her down, and now she's absolutely filthy. Those kids are laughing their heads off at you, knowing all the time you've spent cleaning her, and... damn it, Michael, you're not gonna stand for _that_...are you?!"

A tad too late, Hank realized his brilliant plan had a slight flaw. Even with the distance between them, he still saw Mike's eyes narrow into The Look. The death glare that he saw when some selfish idiot refused to yield on a red light run. Or some Porsche driver played chicken on their driveway.

Yes, The Look could dig you into your grave, and take you all the way down to Australia. Or hurl a baseball into the most vulnerable part of your anatomy. And while he and Beth had agreed that their family was complete... well, on his side of things, the Stanley family bloodline was now under serious threat.

A painful one, too. And the only thing he had to hand, and on that hand, to protect it? This battered old glove.

Wonderful.

Hunkering further onto his heels, Hank placed that scant protection where it was needed the most, while giving a ' _please_ , _God_ , _don_ ' _t_ _let me regret_ _this_ ' thumbs up with the other.

"Okay, Mike... now wind up that arm, and let 'em have it!"

Still clearly questioning his sanity, Mike shook out his pitching arm, then wound it up and, if just to obey his captain, gave it his best but no doubt lousy shot.

*WHACK!*

Staring down at the glove on his hand, Hank blinked. Straight into that X crease, just as he'd asked for, and... damn. Donny Sutton couldn't have pitched it better.

If he was stunned, though, then Mike looked like he was about to faint. Staring back at his captain, his eyes were like saucers. His jaw had almost hit the ground, and - damn, where was your camera when you needed it?

Hell, who needed a camera? That delight on his engineer's face would stay with him forever. And was he ready to leave it there? Was he hell.

"All right! Yeah, Mike, that was _perfect_! Beautiful! Now, same again, pal. Right down the line."

With just the hint of a smile, Mike nodded. Determined to prove to himself that, yes, he'd _really_ just done that, he wound up his arm again, and -

*WHACK!*

Two for two. And if this wasn't the time for Number One Son to let out a joyous, wholly un-Stoker like "whoop!" then Hank was damned if he knew what was. Instead, he waited for his victory-dancing engineer to settle down again - and for himself to stop laughing.

"Okay, Mike, let's do this. One more like that, and those kids are benched -"

"...and drenched, Cap... right after I hose 'em down!"

Yeah, see how _they_ felt to be left on the bench of shame. Oh, and with payback too - Stoker style. Perfect.

Laughing too, Hank adjusted his glove, then settled back onto his heels. Yes, nothing like the right kind of motivation to get your sidelined engineer back in the game.

*WHACK!*

Strike three. Game over. And not just witnessed by his captain this time. Everyone who'd needed to see it was there for him too.

"Wow!"

"Hey, Mike! Way to go!"

"Yeah, we got a new killer pitcher in town!"

However surprised or embarrassed he was about it, Mike found himself being hugged like he'd just won the World Series. For him, though, one of those hugs meant more to him than all the others put together.

Brought out with them to apologise, Johnny's cheering yell had been the loudest of the lot. Not sure what to do next, he'd found everything he needed to see in a broad, forgive it all grin. Then he'd rushed forward with the others, and pretty much lifted his fellow six footer off the ground - all tension between them forgotten now, in this moment of pure celebration.

"Wow, Mike! That was _incredible_! Incredible, and... yeah, you see? I _knew_ you could do it... didn't I tell you, huh? I _knew_ you could do it!"

For Hank, of course, it was a moment of fatherly triumph. Yes, all the kids were playing nicely again. Everyone was happy, and hugging, and - oh, _damn it_.

"Thanks, Cap, I'll take it from here, and... okay, Mikey, let's go!"

Caught up in the moment, he hadn't seen how everyone else had reacted to that one, single word. Or, more specifically, that one, single name.

As one, Hank, Roy, Chet and Marco all took two steps backwards - safely out of the line of fire. Aside from his family, Dixie, and... yeah, Cap too, at a pinch, no-one who wished to stay on Mike Stoker's good side _ever_ called him 'Mikey.'

For Johnny, of course, all he saw was that slow, innocent smile that now spread over Mike's face. But all Hank saw were those lethally narrowed eyes as they locked onto their new target.

Fighting to keep his own face straight, he gave Roy a subtle nudge, and some last words of fatherly wisdom.

"Uh, Roy? You might want to get your kit, pal. I think Johnny's gonna need it."


End file.
